


Hello Oblivion, my Old Friend

by cVee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23702566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cVee/pseuds/cVee
Summary: Because years later, all she has to show for are the burns on her hands from all the nights spent scrubbing them raw with hot water, pretending the heat could compensate for the coldness that rattles her bones and had steeped into her heart.And the boy is long gone, bright eyes never bound to open again, nothing but a cold body six feet under and another name to the hundred others in a slab of stone erected at the heart of the Ministry Atrium in an effort to immortalize those who had succumbed to mortality.
Relationships: Cho Chang/Oliver Wood, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	Hello Oblivion, my Old Friend

The day he meets her is sharp and cold. There’s an inexplicable thrum of magic in the still crisp air, like a balm soothing his skin warmly. And if anyone would listen carefully they’ll hear the Earth hold its breath in a semblance to a calm before the storm. A glow lingers in the horizon that rips apart the greyness that comes with the early morn, a color that oddly paints the day with an obscurity of the unknown or the blurred edges of a memory.

“Everyone, this is Cho Chang.” Philbert Deverill, Puddlemere United’s spindly manager, grins triumphantly as he introduces their new addition. It is the first time in three days that he genuinely looks happy and hearty, returning to his usual jovial self, after Connolly had abruptly quit the team. “She’s our new chaser.”

Cho Chang smiles at them in greeting, an action she had perfected to a tee to the point where she can even feign the smile reaching her eyes.

Oliver Wood may be no seeker with their keen senses and sharp eyes but he perceives the exhaustion weighing down her gaze which was so unwavering that he found it hard to meet. Her eyes hint at a backstory buried deep beneath, like a book pushed to the very back of the shelf. They held specks of stardust that once upon a time would light up for someone but between the spaces of no longer and not yet had turned into a bridled placid hue.

“So a chaser, huh?” Harry asks over lunch at the nearby pub/inn, Eager Elixir, that the team usually frequents at. He had eventually gotten around the initial bout of awkwardness that came with working with an ex-girlfriend, deeming the friendship shared between them more important.

“One day I just decided to try my hand at other positions,” Cho replies,” Being a chaser worked out well for me, I guess.”

“I’d say it’s more than well. You’re one hell of a chaser.” Alan Bagman, one the team’s beaters, beams encouragingly at her.

The compliment earns him a smile.” Thanks.”

“You should’ve seen her as a seeker,” Oliver pipes in.

“If I remembered correctly, I once overheard you saying I was no match for Harry here,” Cho reminds. She had not interacted much with the previous Gryffindor Quidditch Captain outside the pitch but with how rambunctious their team was, it was heard not to caught wind of some of their conversations here and there.

He gives her a lopsided smile.” I believe my exact words before that were ‘Chang is a pretty good seeker’.”

“But?” Cho arches a brow, goading him good-naturedly.

“But she’s no match for Potter, especially with his Firebolt,” Oliver says, his sheepish smile giving him away.

“Why do I feel like you had more trust in my Firebolt than me?” Harry mutters before taking a gulp of his butterbeer.

Oliver shoots him an unapologetic look before turning to Cho.” Well, I did compliment your skills.”

“Anything before the word ‘but’ is deemed obsolete, Wood,” Cho points out, amused.

“You also told me to knock her off her broom,” Harry recounts.

Ember Larch, another chaser, snorts.” Such a gentleman.”

“Yeah, he told me to stop being a gentleman,” Harry adds, too helpfully.

Oliver glares at his traitorous friend who's smirking at his expense.” I said **_if_** you had to. I didn’t tell you to knock her off just for the hell of it.”

Cho chortles.” So he’s still Quidditch-obsessed?”

The rest of the team, sans Wood himself, nod at her question.

“Oh yeah, and he still does this thing where he tries to drown himself in the showers whenever we lose a game.” Wilson, the burly beater, guffaws, jokingly elbowing Oliver.

“I don’t try to drown myself,” Oliver protested indignantly.

* * *

Later that day, Oliver apparates to the front door of his flat, tired and sore after a long day of practice. Every muscle was all but screaming out for a well-deserved rest, exhaustion seeping from his pores. Even trudging to open his front door feels like he's walking uphill.

“Wood?”

He is seconds away from turning the door knob when he hears the oddly familiar voice. Swiveling around, he spots Cho Chang standing a few feet away from him, a small duffle bag slung over one shoulder and a box clutched under her arm.

“Cho?” He regards her when a realization dawns upon him.” You’re my new neighbor?”

“Well, apparently I am,” Cho replies.” I checked on the place yesterday. It seems like a good place.”

It was. The red brick building was located in a pretty decent neighbor, not too far from Diagon Alley. It was owned by a friendly old woman with a pet kneazle which made a habit of snagging food from the hands of unsuspecting people who were naïve enough to be carrying food with them on the hallways. He vividly remembers how the pesky kneazle had practically jumped at him and swiped the toast he had for breakfast when he was running late for practice one day.

“Do you need help with that?” Oliver gestures at the box she was clutching.

“Nope. Thanks for the offer but I got it,” Cho politely demurs with a smile.

And perhaps there are things, no one, not even the universe itself could explain, something so devastatingly bittersweet such as the smile on a person’s face with placidly haunting glint in her eyes.

* * *

Sometimes, there’s something beautifully nostalgic about seeing two people in love. It’s like everything they do is endearing and all she can do is stare and hope that someday she’ll have something so special and right. It’s a pleasant reminder that despite every terrible and harrowing things in the world, good things can still happen. Despite the storms and hurricanes that life throws her way, there is still a sunshine type of love that can build her up from within and help her get through even her worst days. Or perhaps the tea and honey kind of love that maybe- just maybe- can be enough to overpower the stench of war and erase the image of blood under her fingernails that she desperately tries to wash away on nights where she dreams of venom, bones, debris, and a boy with the eyes of smoky blue kissed by specks of stolen moonlight.

-is something she’d think once upon a time.

Because years later, all she has to show for are the burns on her hands from all the nights spent scrubbing them raw with hot water and pretending the heat could compensate for the coldness that rattles her bones and had steeped into her heart. There are no hurricanes, storms and sunshines, just emptiness on days that are so hazy life seems to pass her by. And the boy is long gone, bright eyes never bound to open again, nothing but a cold body six feet under and another name to the hundred others in a slab of stone erected at the heart of the Ministry Atrium in an effort to immortalize those who had succumbed to mortality.

“Odd, isn’t it?” Ember’s voice pulls her out from her train of thoughts.

“Huh?” Is all she could blurt out, having no inkling on what Ember was referring to.

“Those two.” The two brunette gestures at the couple she had been staring moments ago- Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.” They seem like the least romantic couple you’d know but there’s something oddly endearing about them.”

Cho could only nod. If by least romantic meant that the two didn’t make it their goal to remind everyone that they were a couple and weren’t mushy gushy about it, no handholding or long kisses as far as she’s seen. But, Cho noticed, there were the subtle touches- hands brushing against each other, arms grazing, and the proximity they maintain around the other.

There was a time when Cho would never settle with a love so simple as that, preferring to have those exhilarating and showy type of love as some sort of a standard she has set for herself to live up to.

What a foolish girl she had been.

Instead, out of her desire to act normal, she manages to reply,” I always knew those two would end up together.”

“Yeah,” Ember says, oblivious to the amalgam of emotions brewing inside Cho.” It’s just nice to know that love can prevail even through a war those two suffered through.”

The same war that claimed her life through one of its first casualties.

“Yeah,” Cho musters a shaky smile before shortly excusing herself to the loo.

She almost runs into Oliver who had just walked out from the men’s lavatory, uttering a soft apology before striding away.

Oliver blinks, befuddled.” What’s wrong with her?”

* * *

“What are you doing?” Cho asks, tilting her head at Oliver questioningly.

It’s an almost comical sight- Oliver wood in a johnny gown, stiffening at the sound of her voice behind and turning to face her with a wide-eyed stare like a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

Just the other day, during practice a rogue bludger had gotten to Oliver while he was busy screaming at one of their beaters to watch for it only for said bludger to ram into his broom, sending Oliver plummeting to the ground. Fortunately for him, the bludger didn’t smash his head but he sustained a terrible concussion from the fall nonetheless.

The team, along with some of his friends, had agreed to visit him at St. Mungo’s that morning. However, Cho had to wait for an important parcel for her new flat so she had opted for visiting him that afternoon instead. That was what led her to running into Oliver Wood himself along the hallways of St. Mungo’s.

“Er… walking,” Oliver lamely answers, giving her a sheepish smile.

“Are you supposed to-“

“Mr. Wood, what are you doing out of bed?” A plump woman in healer’s robes with a clipboard clutched to her chest shoots Oliver a chiding look.” I thought I told you that you needed plenty of rest and to avoid extraneous activities, not to go off gallivanting around hallways.”

“You know how stuffy I think that room is, Greta,” Oliver reasons with an apologetic expression, almost whining.

“Perhaps you’d best remember that the next time you do something foolish and send yourself to St. Mungo’s again.”

“But-“

“Oh hello, Cho,” Greta finally takes notice of her.

“Hello, Healer Bletchley. It’s been awhile.”

Oliver regards the two women, eyes darting at them. “Wait, you know each other?”

“Cho was once a healer here,” Greta replies.

“What?”

“A resident healer,” Cho corrects good-naturedly.

“Of course,” Greta smiles.” What seems to be the purpose of your trip here today?”

“I’m actually here to visit Wood here.”

“Oh, good. Do you mind escorting him back to his room?”

“No, not at all.”

“I know the way back,” Oliver mutters under his breath.

“Come on, Wood.” Cho leads him to the room one of the medi-witch at the front desk had directed her to.

“You were a healer?” Oliver instantly asks her as soon as he plops himself on the bed in his room.

“Hmm…” Cho noncommittally busies herself with pulling out a plastic chair for her to sit by his bedside.

“So how’d you go from that to a professional Quidditch player?”

“I realized I wanted other things at the end of my first year of residency program,” She replies.” I traveled for a few months, visited some relatives at Beijing. I lived there for awhile where I eventually picked up playing Quidditch professionally.”

“So before Philbert contacted you, you were playing for one of the Chinese teams and living in Beijing?”

“Yup.”

“That explains why I haven’t seen you around you before Philbert brought you in,” Oliver muses.” Seems like such long distance for you to travel for Puddlemere.”

“Well, aren’t you full of questions today, Mr. Wood?” Cho arches a brow.

“We don’t have much options for pastimes here,” Oliver dryly points out.

* * *

Saturday mornings, for Cho, are usually spent sleeping in until 10 a.m. It’s not that she’s the type to be grouchy and hate mornings. Years being in Ravenclaw had drilled into her mind the importance of waking up practically at the crack of dawn to prepare for the day and go over her notes before class. The early bird (raven) catches the worm, as they would say. A few years after Hogwarts the early riser habit had gradually fallen away. Late night shifts training to become a healer and later, grueling practice sessions as a professional Quidditch player had finally caught up to her.

So it was to her dismay that she was woken up by telltale sound of tapping against her bedroom window that bright Saturday morning.

She knows it’s impolite but she’s seriously considering not answering it. Perhaps the owl would think that she’s not home and would go away.

_Tap tap_

Unlikely.

 _Merlin’s beard_. With her body all but protesting at the sudden action, Cho gets up from her bed to open the window. A familiar looking short-eared owl extends its leg for her to take the missive attached there. Extricating said parchment, Cho offers a treat to the owl which earns her an appreciative peck in return.

She could only blink at the message in the parchment.

_Good morning, Cho. I’m not sure if you know this but Oliver Wood had been discharged from St. Mungo’s just yesterday afternoon. Since he needs another four days to completely heal, he was advised to have plenty of rest and limit certain physical activities. But Oliver doesn’t really have the reputation of upholding strict instructions from his healers. So if you don’t mind, could you please check on him once in a while?_

_Love,_

_Greta_

_P.S. Our friends here at St. Mungo’s had been asking for you. We should all go out sometimes._

Something as heavy as guilt gnaws at her after reading the postscript note.

A hoot from the owl pulls her out of her stupor and she eventually writes a reply before sending the owl away and heading to her bathroom to prepare for the day ahead.

An hour later, freshly showered and dressed in a blue jumper and her comfiest pair of jeans, Cho finds herself standing in front the door next to her flat. Without any preamble, she gingerly knocks on it. She hears the unmistakable sound of clatter and shuffling from inside the flat before the door is pulled open. The sight of Oliver Wood, partially donned in his Quidditch gear, greets her. She quirks a brow at his choice of clothing that day.

“Going somewhere, Wood?”

“Uh no, not at all,” Oliver splutters through his reply, visibly trying so hard to act nonchalant.

“Then what’s with the getup?”

“I er I was um… cleaning my wardrobe..?”

Cho gives him an incredulous look. After a while, she says,” Has any told you that you’re a horrible liar?”

Oliver sighs.

“Any chance you’d be inviting me in before the next century?”

“Oh, of course! Sorry about that,” Oliver sheepishly ushers her in.” Come in.”

As soon as Cho enters his flat, she couldn’t help the twitch in her lips in an effort to stop the laughter from spilling through. A snort eventually slips through. The flat was very... Gryffindor.

The walls were painting in Gryffindor yellow. Though the living room was sparsely decorated, the settee was in the color of Gryffindor red and the coffee table appeared to be made out of redwood. There was a shelf housing some books at the corner of the room and a painting of a Quidditch field above the red brick fireplace. She presumes that across the living room, separated by a red brick wall and the fireplace would be the kitchen and the left side she could spot a door which is probably Oliver’s bedroom.

“What’s so funny?”

Cho’s eyes practically sparkle in amusement.” It’s so Gryffindor of you.”

Oliver rolls his eyes.

“My sister insisted to paint the walls,” He grumbled.” So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“Greta owled and asked me to check on you since you have a reputation for not following your healer’s instructions.”

“I am behaving,” Oliver innocently smiles at her.

She scoffs.” Which exactly explains the Quidditch gear.”

“I told you I was cleaning through my wardrobe.”

Cho gives him a look that says ‘do you think I’m stupid?’, scrutinizing him. Despite standing a good eight inches taller, he could feel himself shrink under the scrutiny.

Cho walks over to his couch where the tip of a broom’s handle was sticking out from behind. She picks it up. “And I presume you were sweeping the floors too?”

“It was getting boring being cooped up indoors for four straight days. Sooo…” He drawls.”… I thought flying out for a bit won’t hurt.”

“Oliver Wood!” She chastises but more like screeches.

“Okay, I’m sorry.”

“You better be.” Cho huffs.” Did you have breakfast yet?”

“Er no.”

She looks at him in a mix of incredulity and exasperation.” You know you have to take the potions for your concussion after every meal, right?”

Oliver nods.

Cho sighs, massaging her temples as if she’s the one who's having a concussion and not him.” Fine. Change out of your gear and put away the broom, Wood. And if you don’t mind, may I use your kitchen?”

“For what?”

“Breakfast.”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Do you want me to owl Greta and take you back to St. Mungo’s?”

“No!”

“Then get on with it.”

* * *

“Wood, just drink the sodding potions,” Cho practically snaps, shoving the vile colored concoctions to Oliver’s face, even if it was his throat she wanted to shove the potions down to instead. They had just finished their breakfast of eggs, beans, and toast which Cho had scourged up from Oliver’s nearly empty icebox. Typical bachelor.

“But they’re nasty,” Oliver scrunches his face in distaste.

“Stop being a baby.”

“Are you usually this scary when you’re in healer mode?”

“Just when I’m dealing with stubborn patients.” She gives him a pointed look.” Just please take your potions already, Wood.”

“Why do you do that?” Oliver asks.

“What?”

“Call me Wood?”

“Because that’s your name?” Cho dryly answers.

“My name’s Oliver. Call me that instead.”

“Only if you take your potions.”

“Deal.”

* * *

The wrought iron gate to the cemetery is a grim harbinger that towers over here as she nears it, ominous and imposing as ever. After walking through it, she makes a turn by the old gnarled tree, the bough twisting like contorted bones, roots protruding like slithering snakes and writhing in a silent scream.

Her breath catches in her throat when her gaze lands on a particular tombstone, the name engraved on the headstone glints under the dim afternoon sun as if beckoning her to come closer. The thing with grief is it's so fragile, like a cup filled to the brim that the slightest touch of memory can cause tears to spill again and drown her in waves of wretchedness that threatens to swallow her whole.

Cho’s knees kiss the ground as she reaches out to trace the loops in the engraved _Cedric Diggory_. She stays there, with tears running down her face and fingers that feel numb at the tips from the cold air that nips them.

Hours later she finds herself back in her apartment with bottles of firewhisky on her coffee table in front of her, fooling herself into thinking that she’ll find a haven at the bottom of each bottle.

Cho takes another swig of her drink, chasing away the sight of Cedric’s corpse clutched by a hysterical Harry with the keen burn of the amber liquid.

Maybe she can get drunk enough to drown away the persistent feelings that she couldn’t put into words. The same ones that consume every fiber of her being to the point where she can all but feel her chest quake and her lungs collapse in itself.

If she’s lucky, she can delude herself into tasting bitterness and alcohol long enough to forget that they’re actually grief and loss. Another thing about grief is it comes in waves and her limbs are heavy with memories keeping her from swimming to the shore so she drowns instead, with the wreckage and debris around her.

Like a routine she had long mastered, oblivion welcomes her later that night.

* * *

Oliver knocks on Cho’s front door again.

Still no response.

She can’t be out. It’s too early for anyone to be out and about. So he knocks again.

True, Oliver was known for being impatient and impulsive but he was a man with a purpose that day so he doesn’t give up and tries the door knob instead.

Surprisingly, the door is unlocked. He finds it odd since he didn’t take Cho to be someone careless enough to forget to secure her front door. Wariness wells up in him and he carefully pushes the door open.

No sooner than that, he finds her sleeping on her settee in such a disheveled state. There’s no prim and proper conduct to follow in sleeping but the state she’s in is another type of disarray. Her hair is a tousled mess of a nest, her clothes are rumpled and the way she was sprawled on her couch didn’t look so comfortable. It was like she simply collapse there and didn’t bother to find any way to make herself more comfortable.

And there are a couple of empty firewhisky bottles on her coffee table.

_What is the world coming to?_

He sees her stir from where he’s standing. There’s the unmistakable wince from what he could only know, from experience, is due to the glare of the sunlight streaming through her window. Cho groans, the voice raspy, her throat probably felt like sandpaper right then. He could only wince himself, imagining the magnitude of the earthquake attempting to crack through her cranium.

Cho’s eyes eventually flutter open, squinting at the assault of sunlight upon rousing. “Bloody hell.”

“Must be one hell of a hangover, mate.”

Cho instantly shoots up at the sound of his voice, instantly regretting the action from the wave of nausea that washes over her, apparent from the miserable scrunch of her face.

“What are doing here?” She manages to choke out, voice thick with sleep and dehydration.

“Did you finish all these?” Oliver gestures at the empty bottles on her coffee table as if he didn’t hear her question.

“Well, there’s no else here, isn’t there?” Cho grumbles under her breath before plopping back down on her couch, groaning at the action.” Stupid hangover.”

“Yes, that tends to happen when you drink as much.” Oliver tries to keep the amusement from his voice at the sight of a moody Cho with a killer hangover.” Where’s your sobering potion?”

Cho indignantly groans again, cursing under her breath.”… I think I ran out.”

Oliver blinked.” You got yourself blitzed and then you don’t have sobering potions?”

At the dumbfounded look on his face, Cho snipes.” I make mistakes too, you know.”

“Okay, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m gonna go get some at my flat. Just stay here.”

“Yes, because I’d really love to be moving around so much right now,” Cho wryly mutters before Oliver leaves for his own flat.

A few minutes later, Oliver returns with vial of sobering potion and a plastic container clutched under one arm.

“Thanks,” Cho genuinely says after gulping down the potion, the hangover eventually washing away from her system.” So what are you doing here? Not that I’m not grateful or anything.”

“My mom visited me last night. She brought some forfar bridies. It’s too much for me. I came by to ask if you’d want some.” Oliver opens the plastic container he was holding to reveal the pastries inside them.

“Okay. Well, let me make some tea and we can have breakfast together.”

* * *

“I’ve got a board game,” Oliver excitedly announces when he walks into Cho’s flat that Monday evening. Cho had just gotten home from practice an hour ago and since Philbert had given Oliver a week to recuperate from his sustained injury, he’d been finding ways to chase away his boredom.

“Not to be rude or anything but are we making a habit of visiting each other’s houses now?”

“I was bored,” Oliver says, taking a seat on the armchair across Cho.” Thus a _board_ game!”

Oliver seems pleased with himself at the pun, grinning proudly.

“Fine. What is it?”

“Snitch Snatcher!”

“A Quidditch simulation.” Cho scoffs.” Of course.”

“I want to play as Ravenclaw,” Cho adds.

Oliver hesitates before speaking up,” I’m sorry, Cho but they ran out of Ravenclaw pieces.”

“Fine. I’ll play Hufflepuff.”

“No Hufflepuff either.”

Cho gaped at him.” I’ll play Gryffindor then.”

“But I’m playing Gryffindor,” Oliver protests in what almost sounds like whiney tone.

“There is no way I am playing Slytherin, Oliver Wood. So it’s either you give me Gryffindor or I’m not playing.”

“…Fine.”

“Good.”

“Evil,” Oliver mutters under his breath.

“I heard that.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Hmmm..”

“Nothing at all.”

Cho then decides to just drop the subject.” Oh hey, that piece looks like Flint.”

“Ha-ha, you think you’re so funny.”

“At least I’m not the one playing as Slytherin.”

* * *

Oliver snorts.” Tutshill Tornados?”

“What’s so amusing about that?”

“When was the last time they won?” Oliver playfully goads.” When Merlin was learning his first spell?”

Cho looked affronted by that.” I’ll have you know that they won the League Cup five times in a row.”

“Only by means of torture, blackmail, and illegal broom tampering.”

“I didn’t take you for someone who believes the lies spread by The Quibbler.”

“Better than the lies spread by The Daily Prophet,” He quips.

He, Cho inwardly admits, had a point there.

“As if your favorite team would be better.”

“What’s that now, Cho? Are you badmouthing the team you’re currently playing for?” Oliver feigns a dramatic gasp.” Philbert would be scandalized.”

“Wait, your favorite team’s Puddlemere United?”

“Of course, it is.”

“ _Of course_.”

* * *

“Are my eyes deceiving me?” George gawks.” Is Oliver dating Chang?”

Harry chokes on the water he was gulping, spluttering and coughing.” What in Merlin’s name are you spouting about?”

George, along with Ron, had chosen that fine day to visit the Puddlemere pitch. And perhaps to play some pranks on his former Quidditch Captain. But apparently, Oliver was preoccupied with something else.

Harry and Ron turn their heads to where Oliver and Cho had been arguing over the strategy board a minute ago. At the moment, Oliver had taken another course of action. He had thrown Cho over his shoulder with the intention of placing her from a considerable distance away from the strategy board they’d been arguing about.

“Put me down, you buffoon!” Cho practically screeches, pounding her fists against Oliver’s back.

“Gladly.” Finding a good distance away from the strategy board, Oliver obliges.

“Nah,” Ron casually says.” Oliver’s too obsessed with Quidditch to start noticing girls like that.”

“Oliver may be Quidditch-fanatic but he did have girlfriends before,” Harry points out.

“Those two are definitely going there,” George comments.

Harry’s eyes suddenly glint in mischief.” Wanna bet?”

* * *

Oliver could see clouds of dark smoke billowing and obscuring the direction towards the kitchen from where he’s standing by the doorway. The strong smell of something burning assaults his nostrils and he wastes no time in scampering towards the kitchen.

“Cho? What in Merlin’s name happened here?”

It appears the source of the smoke and stench of burnt egg and flour is the charred pan on the kitchen stove. Cho fidgets while trying to wave away wisps of smoke in a futile attempt to help clear the air.

“Cho?”

Cho pouts, hesitating before painstakingly answering.” I was trying to cook dinner.”

“What were you trying to cook? Flambéed crepes?”

“Don’t be mean, Oliver.” She tries to hurl the dishtowel she’d been holding at Oliver in petulant indignation but unfortunately for her, due to his keeper reflexes, Oliver swats away the cloth.

“So what was it?” Oliver continues to press, albeit good-naturedly.

“Pasta,” Cho mutters, suddenly appearing flustered.

Oliver gawks at her.” But that’s-“

“Just pasta, I know,” Cho blushes.” I’m not really good in the kitchen, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know. You cooked breakfast last time.”

“Those were fairly easy to cook.”

Oliver clears his throat in an effort to stop himself from laughing, though a twitch at the side of his lips were apparent. He doesn’t want to humiliate the girl even further. The flustered look on her face had been enough.

“What are you doing here?” Cho shoots back, eyeing him warily.

Oliver waves away the suspicious thoughts he could see taking form in her mind, practically hearing the gears turning in her head.” I think I left my snitch snatcher board here.”

“I was starting to think you’d never notice.”

“And you didn’t bother to tell me?”

“I was merely waiting for you to say something about it. You can be so dense out of Quidditch sometimes.”

“But you find it endearing, don’t you?” Oliver playfully says, winking at her.

“It’s like watching a dog try to chase its tail.”

Oliver dramatically places his hand on his chest.” You wound me, Cho. And here I was, planning to invite you to dinner after you burnt yours.”

“You make it sound like I intentionally burnt the pasta.”

“So, dinner at my place?”

* * *

The blonde two tables away from him had been flashing him wry smiles over the rim of her drink, eyes sparkling with coquetry and the not so subtle hint of desire. Perfectly curled lashes of velvet ribbon batting at him in a come-hither motion and her lips as red as sin slightly parted, promising a place of worship and refuge between them.

Oliver knocks back his third glass of firewhisky, wondering why he wasn’t responding to her advances yet. It was not uncommon for him to be receiving such attention from women every now and then, especially with his fame in the world of Quidditch. And yes, contrary to what Cho thinks, he wasn’t entirely clueless outside of Quidditch. He was Quidditch-obsessed, yes, but he was not blind.

He tries to focus his attention on the chinking of the ice as he lowers his glass yet his mind persists to stray. Her hair was in the wrong shade. It was too light, appearing to be bleached to that shade. Perhaps if it was much darker. It would look like the inky blackness of the night and when the sunlight weaves through its strands, it would look like midnight cradled by the moonlight. It would also be kept relatively short to a sensible shoulder length, bouncy towards the edges.

“So, you and Cho…” Harry starts, nursing his own drink from beside him at the pub’s booth they snagged.

Oliver blinks.” What about me and Cho?”

“Are you shagging?” George blurts out.

The firewhisky he was drinking ends up on Ron’s face instead.

“Hey, watch it, mate!” Ron protests, looking quite disgruntled.

“What a waste of a good drink,” George laments, looking at Oliver’s now empty glass.

After sputtering and coughing from the bit of liquid that went the wrong way down his throat, Oliver glares at George.” We are not shagging.”

“You make it sound like the idea of Cho is really that awful,” Harry mutters.

“If I remember correctly, you were the one with a huge crush on her back then, Harry.” Oliver arches a brow at Harry.

“That was before…”

“Oi, we’re not talking about Harry here. We’re talking about you and Cho, Oliver,” Ron says.” Bloody hell, even I can see there’s something there.”

“Yeah, Ollie. I’m starting to wonder why all that sexual tension hasn’t burn down the quidditch pitch yet.” George grins.

“There is no burning down of the pitch that will be happening,” Oliver snaps.

“Hey, isn’t that Chang?” George points at something behind Oliver.

Oliver snorts, not bothering to fall into George’s trap and turn his head.” Nice try, George.”

“It really is Chang,” George insists.

Ron, who had taken to following where George was staring at, adds,” Yup, that’s Cho right there.”

Oliver lets out an aggravated sigh. Why in Merlin’s name did he even think that accepting these buggers’ invitation for a night in the pub was a good idea? All those bludgers to the head had finally gotten to him.

Despite his reservations, Oliver turns his head.

Shockingly enough, George hadn’t been lying and Cho was actually there.

“I don’t believe it,” Oliver mutters under his breath.

She’s practically slumped against the bar counter. The hand propped against her cheek is barely keeping her sitting upright. She’s clearly inebriated, probably had drunk more than her weight’s worth, considering her small frame.

A man, who shared a galling likeness to Marcus Flint in terms of appearance (troll-like and all) except for the mop of straw blonde hair, is leering at her from the seat next to her. He’s leaning too close and he doesn’t like the way his hand is lingering on her hip, wandering lower…

“Wha- where are you going?” He could hear Harry asks when he abruptly stands up from his seat.

Before he knew it, the distance between their both and the bar counter is crossed with his long and brisk strides.

“Come on, Cho,” Oliver places an arm around Cho’s shoulders. He sends a dirty look at the man, wanting the rip out the offending hand from its sockets and strangle him with it.

Clearly, the stupid git with apparent troll genes in him doesn’t get the message being sent across, all the air in his head is probably making it hard for him to process anything. His hand stays on Cho’s hip.

“Ollie!” Cho all but jumps to wrap her arms around him, leaving him reeling at the abruptness of the action. The hug forces the man’s hand away from Cho.” Wha *hic* are you doing hewre?”

“Hey, why don’t you just leave me and lovely lady here back to our conversation, mate?” The troll has the gall to growl at him.

“Bugger off,” Oliver gives him a withering look before gently pulling Cho along.” Let’s get you home now.”

“But I don’t wanna!” Cho whines, slurring through her words.” I wanna drink more. Ollliiieeee~”

“Nope, you’ve had enough.”

He quickly says his goodbyes to his friends back at their booth, not bothering to hear their replies before leading Cho to the nearest apparition point and side-along apparating to her flat.

“But Ollieeee, I didn’t *hic* wanna leeeeaavvee~”

Leading her to her bedroom, he sighs.” The hangover’s gonna put you in a terrible mood tomorrow and I’m the one who’s gonna suffer because of it.”

“Hmph, fine.”

“Why’d you think it was such a good idea to get hammered anyway?” He knows it was useless finding reason from a person this drunk.

He busies himself with pulling off her boots and tucking her into bed that he misses the teary-eyed look on her face.” Good-“

“I visited Cedric today.”

Oliver’s head instantly whips up to face her, the speed of which made him think he was bound to give himself a whiplash.

There’s something raw and poignant when people speak with their eyes rather than their mouths, and there are no words that could pay respect to how heartbreaking the look on Cho’s eyes are. The pain runs so deep that it gathers at the corner of her eyes, threatening to spill.

“It hurts.” Cho’s voice breaks and a sob escapes her trembling lips. She reaches out a hand to her chest as if it’s the source of all her pain.” Why does it hurt so much?”

Tears start running down her face and all he could do is pull her into his arms.

Because sometimes, pain is the price we pay for love.

* * *

“I’m sorry about Cedric,” Oliver says the next day after their usual morning banter is said and done, the sobering potion taken and the breakfast table had been cleared away. There are still hints of tear tracks on Cho’s cheeks and grim circles under her eyes.

“It’s been years,” Cho mutters against the rim of her teacup.

“You’re still grieving.”

“The truth is people really never stop grieving,” She gives him a sad smile with a faraway look on her face.” We don’t just “get over” it. We learn to live with it but not get over it.”

“Are you?”

“What?”

“Living.”

There’s a pause and places the cup on the table so the clinking doesn’t give away the tremble of her hands.” I think I don’t know how to anymore.”

* * *

“My mother wanted me to work for the Ministry.” Cho fiddles with the wad of tissues she had absentmindedly pressed against her ice cream cone, her gaze not meeting Oliver’s who sat across her. He had successfully gotten her out of her flat and convinced her to a trip to Florean Fortescue for ice cream.” She said a bright girl like me would make a name for myself there. I never did tell her that my light died out a long time ago.”

“So you became a healer?”

Cho smiles and it looks more painful than reassuring.” That’s a story for another day.”

* * *

Cho adored hammocks because it reminds her of the time she traveled to Yunnan Province and it takes her back to those serene moments. She’d be peacefully laying in her hammock in an ancient village surrounded by well-preserved cultures, deep gorges and karst mountains. She could pretend that life could be peaceful and uncomplicated.

That was what led them to setting up a hammock by her living room on a Wednesday night.

“All done,” Oliver triumphantly declares. For the past few days, following the events during the weekend, Oliver had been nothing but a good friend. He didn’t act all awkward and different around her after her outburst. They still invade each other’s flats from time to time and Oliver still teases her about being hopeless in the kitchen even though he still eats the food she cooks, though she can see the grimace he tries to hide from her when the food ends up tasting too salty or too bland.

They slip into a light-hearted argument on who gets the honour of occupying the hammock first before they decided that they could share.

“We used to have a hammock back at my parents’ place at Scotland.”

“Hmmm… I could imagine a young Oliver Wood lazing on a hammock after a game of Quidditch with the neighboring boys.”

Oliver laughs.

“Tell me about your childhood, Ol.”

“Well, hmmm… where to start,” Oliver muses, a smile forms on his lips.” I was born and raised in a place where anyone could wake up to the sound of chirping birds outside their windows. There was a lot of space to play Quidditch around the house…”

“Quidditch,” Cho giggles, amused at Oliver’s unwavering passion for the sport, never missing an opportunity to talk about it.

They continue exchanging tales about their childhood, words spilling out about how Oliver’s mother once thought that his knack for numbers could land him a job at Gringotts or opening up his own business instead of using them for calculating statistics and probabilities to win games, or how Cho’s father once tried to convince her to become an auror like her grandfather. She tells him about her muggleborn British mother, how that only makes her half Chinese contrary to common misconception, how she’d set puzzles and riddles for her as a child and how she hears ‘you have to be everything’ from her mother’s ‘you can be anything’.

In turn, Oliver tells her about how his father was coach first and dad second, and this had influenced how he was singularly focused and determined at Quidditch. His mother, who he was closer to, was responsible for his penchant for giving long lectures before practices and berating his teammates to take better care of themselves, like urging them to eat breakfast before a match yet touching nothing himself or telling them to get a good night’s sleep despite staying up all night strategizing and devising better training programs. There was also his older sister who decided to go to Beauxbatons rather than Hogwarts, claiming that Beauxbatons courses “held more appreciation of the arts and beauty” (her words, not his).

Eventually, Cho falls asleep on Oliver’s chest with his hand absentmindedly playing with strands of her hair and one foot on the floor so he can rock the hammock to keep her asleep lest he’d once again be subjected to her moodiness due to her being abruptly woken up.

* * *

“I brought Chinese takeaway. Also, can we go out for dinner on Saturday night?”

Cho owlishly blinks, mentally going over what Oliver had said.” Isn’t it not unusual for us to eat dinner together by now?”

“I mean…” Oliver fidgets but his Gryffindor courage further strengthens his resolve.” Like a date.”

“Oh. Make it a Sunday then we’re good.”

“Sure.”

* * *

On Saturday, Oliver waits for Cho to return from her trip to the cemetery. When she does, he plucks the bottle of unopened firewhisky from her hands to deposit it somewhere inconspicuous and drags her to Quality Quidditch Supplies, claiming he needs to make some purchase and would probably be needing her opinion on some equipment.

They end up bickering over what type of replacement bristles he ought to buy before settling with the one Cho had practically shoved to his chest. He knows when to pick his battles… sometimes.

Some kids recognize Oliver and asks for his autograph. When he’s finally able to extricate himself from his fans, Cho teases him and laughs at his reaction.

She never gets drunk that Saturday.

* * *

Sunday night finds Cho inspecting herself on her bedroom mirror. She settled on wearing her sleeveless blue knee-length dress with a square neckline, ruffle straps, and gold buttons. Warm colored flats adorned her feet.

Oliver never said where they were going. He merely told her to dress casually, particularly wear something blue.

And when she opens the door for him, it starts to make sense why.

Cho laughs at seeing the reddish brown button up he was wearing, folded to his elbows. “How very Gryffindor of you. Is this some kind of a roleplay now? As I now know why you made me wear blue.”

“Maybe.” Oliver smirks.” You look great.”

Cho rewards him with a smile.” You’re not so bad yourself, Wood.”

She laughs even more when he side-along apparates her in front of a familiar looking stone walled teashop with pink bowfront windows and a flashy sign.

“Madam Puddifoot’s?”

“What?” Oliver starts to look worried.” Harry said you liked this place.”

She feels dozens of snitches fluttering around in her stomach at the fact that Oliver had really thought this through. She doesn’t have the heart to tell him that she had only been fond of the place when she was in her teenage years.

“The memory of what happened last time I was here just made me laugh,” Cho reasons, remembering that disastrous date with Harry.

Olive breathes in relief.” Good. I was starting to think Harry was messing with me.”

Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop still looks the same from the inside, the same pink painted walls, tacky and frilly decorations all around. Except this time, instead of its usual bows, the ceiling is decorated with tons of pink roses around the low-hanging lights. The bell over the door announced their arrival in a tuneful tinkling. The round tables, still decorated with lacy napkins and china sugar bows, accommodated happy couples being intimate with each other over dinner.

* * *

The first time he visit’s Cedric’s grave on his own is on a bleak morning, despite the absence of any clouds lazily drifting across the sky, and the wintry air nips at his skin. Oliver moves across the cold earth with purposeful strides, skirting around a pile of leaves by a gnarled tree with branches like wrinkled fingers reaching out to him.

“Uh hi, Cedric,” Oliver says to the silent headstone with a blatant uncertainty, never having done this before.” I’m sorry if you’re expecting Cho today. It’s just me today.”

“She’s one of the reasons why I’m here today, actually,” Oliver continues.” The thing is I really like her, mate. I’m not here to rub it in or anything. It’s just… you’re really important to her and I thought I’d pay you a visit.”

“I want to make her happy. I promise I’d protect her. But I assure you, I’m not replacing you or anything. You’re special to her and you’ll always be, and I get that.”

* * *

“The reason I quit being a healer is…” Cho says one evening as they sit huddled in front of her fireplace. She’s pressed to his side with his arm around her shoulders. The fire in front of them projects shadows on her face, making her expression more somber than it is.” I entered the field thinking healing others could compensate for my own healing.”

She chuckles bitterly.” I was sorely disappointed when no matter how many people I healed, I still felt empty and broken.”

After a moment or two, she adds with a small genuine smile,” I’m glad I decided to play Quidditch professionally.”

* * *

Cho, with her clammy hands, fixes the collar of her button down dress for what seemed like the hundredth time, the knots in her stomach doesn’t help the nervousness she’d been feeling since that morning. She regards herself on her mirror, checking for anything out of place.

“I assure you, Cho, you look fine, gorgeous even,” Oliver says from his position on her bed, laying on his stomach with a Quidditch magazine spread out in front of him. As if the moment, his gaze was on her rather than the periodical. He’d been reassuring her while she flitted around and fussed over her appearance.

“It’s just that I haven’t seen my friends at St. Mungo’s for awhile…”

Oliver shoots her a look.” And how long is this “awhile”?”

“Three years.”

“Bloody hell.”

“That doesn’t sound reassuring at all.”

Oliver coughs.” I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

After running a hand through her ponytail for any errant baby hair, she turns to Oliver to press a quick kiss on his cheeks.” Okay, I’m off then.”

“Have fun.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you later.”

**Author's Note:**

> I really find this pairing adorable. Ollie is such a cutie and Cho is quite the angst heroine.  
> Thanks for reading and feel free to tell me what you think about this.


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